Broken Child
by bcmfwholocked
Summary: With Sherlock Holmes's arrogant and often ignorant demeanor, one might think nothing passes by him unnoticed. But when his wife Molly startles him with big and most startling news, Sherlock's attitude is forced to differ. The story of how something so small can change the couples lives in ways they never would have expected, and more dangerous then they would have ever anticipated
1. Chapter 1

**Hello fanfiction world! This is my first ever story! Woohoo! I would like to briefly state that I do not own Sherlock nor any of its characters/content I am just a fan who likes to write**!

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Molly swallowed as the warm water from the faucet drizzled on her shaking hands. She scrubbed her trembling fingers together, nervous and anxious from the news she had just learned. _Oh god_, she thought. How was she going to tell him? How would he react? She looks up in the mirror, staring back at her reflection. Her eyes were big. Molly's eyes always grew large when she was nervous, or afraid. He would point that out to her. Oh god, what if he knew already? By just one look he would be able to read every emotion on her face, every tiny little habit she had adopted over the past week and translate them into the truth that she was so anxious and eager to tell him about. She gripped the sink, supporting her balance on her palms, squeezing her fingers against the tile so hard she felt she might crush it into tiny grains. Molly had to tell herself that everything would turn out fine, that he isn't prone to emotion like her, he wouldn't react the way she was. He would be happy. Unafraid. Wouldn't he? She smoothed back a strand of her auburn hair that strayed from its ponytail and flashed a wry smile at herself. Confidence, she thought. She breathes in deep, grips the metal of the door handle, and steps forward. He was sitting upright at the foot of the bed they shared, his long fingers skimming over files and papers Lestrade had given him for his most recent case. Head down, eyes knitted together in concentration. She stands at the doorframe watching his elegant motions, the way his eyes never seem to flicker away from the pile of papers resting on his lap. She runs through different explanations in her head, hammers her brain for ideas. He barely seems to take notice of her when he finally says,

"You've spent quite a lot of time in the bathroom,"

Great, thinks Molly. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. As if her jaw was stuck with glue. He tilts his head ever so slightly to the side, momentarily stopping his work.

"Okay clearly you've got news,"

He says blandly. Molly takes a small, hesitant step forward.

"Umm...Sherlock..."

She shuffles over to his side nervously. He turns around in her direction, finally displaying attention towards her. He furrows his eyebrows.

"Your eyes are big again, its something important isn't it?"  
He says. She flinches,

"Umm, sure. Well actually, yes, umm..."

She stutters, her tongue tied. Their is a pause, he remains mute, waiting for her to speak. His eyes emotionless, limbs stiff and cold like a statue. She hesitates.

"Sherlock, I'm...I'm..."

She can feel the heat flushing to her cheeks, burning like fire. His stare does nothing to help ease her embarrassment. She barely manages to choke out the last words.

"I'm...P-Pregnant."

Sherlock seems to trap her in his awe struck stare. For a second, she thinks he might not even say anything, the way he sits there motionless, unflinching, seemingly unfazed. Then he slowly opens his mouth, blinking his eyes at her.

"Pregnant?"

He squeaks. Theirs a lilt to his voice, like he's trying to clarify with her, like he's asking a question rather than stating the obvious.

"Um, yes."

Molly replies. She chuckles nervously.

"I actually thought you would have already known, you with your deductive reasoning and all-"

"Molly..."

He interrupts, staring out past her, and Molly isn't quite sure whether his mind is processing the news, or if its stopped working altogether.

"...When did you learn..."

"Just now, um..."

Molly says hooking her thumb over her shoulder towards the bathroom.

"And it's...it's ours?"

Sherlock asks hesitantly. Molly raises her eyebrows.

"Well I...don't know who else it could belong to-"

"Molly...this is wonderful."

At this he stands up abruptly, the papers resting on his knees drifting to their carpeted floor, and he engulfs her in a hug. The gesture surprises her at first, but the feel of his hands around her waist, his fingers pressing softly against her back, soothes her entire body, infusing her with a feeling so warm and real that she simply clings to the material of his shirt, refusing to loosen her grip.

"You thought i'd be angry."

He states in a whisper. Molly shakes her head.

"No. I don't know...I was afraid...I thought you'd be too..."

He chuckles.

"Oh I'm very afraid. Molly. Terrified."

She closes her eyes, rests the side of her head against his chest.

"You don't sound like it,"

Her voice is muffled as she speaks into his shirt.

"That's because I have you to help me, Molly. Without my pathologist I'd be hopeless."

He rests his chin against the top of her head.

"Well that's awfully reassuring,"

She whispers, and for a seemingly endless amount of time they remain wrapped in each others arms.

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**Well their you have it! The first chapter! I would greatly appreciate feedback from those of you who took the time to read this, I could really use it:) Expect more later tonight or tomorrow!**~**Hailey**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two as promised! Would've posted it earlier but I went on a surprise shopping trip ha. Anyway thanks for your lovely comments on the first chapter! Hope you enjoy this one too!**

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John was the first and only person they told about the baby. Molly insisted on hosting dinner for him, and telling him the big news after they had finished eating. The look on John's face was priceless when he had been informed.

"Your kidding right?"

He asked. Molly and Sherlock exchanged a glance and shook their heads. John stared at the two of them, like the news he heard was incomprehensible. As if they had told him that Molly was to give birth to an alien rather than a human child.

"How in the hell did you manage to do that?"

He asked awestruck, shock clearly laced in his voice. An awkward silence filled the room that caused Molly to blush, and stare down at her lap uncomfortably. Sherlock cleared his throat but said nothing, one of the few moments in which hesitance would overcome him.

Of course John eventually spread the news to all of Sherlocks colleagues and somewhat close acquaintances, for the couple were too reluctant and timid to do so themselves. They all shared similar reactions with John. Mrs. Hudson even payed the couple a visit herself, however more ecstatic than the rest, showering them with gifts and kisses and kind words that Molly was thankful for but Sherlock seemed irritated by.

"I've been waiting for the day Sherlock would finally start a family of his own,"

She would say, her voice chipper and full of excitement.

"It's a miracle, him always being cooped up in his flat, never going out unless of course their was a murder or something of the sorts, which is why I was so ecstatic when you two married two summers ago and I was very glad-"

"Yes, yes, yes, Mrs. Hudson, we're very happy to hear it,"

Sherlock would interrupt her irritably, causing Molly to shoot a glare at him. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't seem the least bit discouraged, she would just keep rambling on and on until finally Sherlock eventually managed to get her out of their flat leaving content and satisfied.

Molly had only caught glimpses of when Sherlock truly displayed happiness. He always hid his emotions, tucked them away in the crevices of his mind like unwanted memories, concealing his expression with a giant wall. As if they were something to be ashamed of, a weakness. But as the weeks pressed on, when the news came that the child inside Molly was a boy, it seemed like someone had smashed the wall barricading his emotion into pieces. Sherlock smiled, squeezed Molly's hand in a way that sent pleasant shivers down her spine. A boy. A boy Sherlock could relate with, connect more profoundly with. A boy Sherlock would never have to adopt pitiful worries from, like clothes and feminine things. Sherlock would be able to indulge in the paternal perks of being a father to a son. That bond was stronger than that of father to daughter, Sherlock viewed. The news delighted Sherlock intensely and in a way he had never felt before. Molly didn't specifically care about what gender it was, she was content with either, so she was happy as well when the news came that the baby was a boy. Especially because she knew how much it meant to Sherlock. She could see it on his face, the way he practically bursted with happiness when they learned the results from the ultrasound. It gladdened her to see him so happy.

It took ages for Molly to, well to firstly convince Sherlock that the baby actually needed a name. They were both at home one day, Sherlock busily typing on his laptop, emailing John about a case he was deeply involved in, while Molly laid herself down on the sofa, exhausted, even though she had barely done a thing all day.

"We need to think of names for him Sherlock,"  
She exhales. Sherlocks fingers quickly type away on his keyboard. He barely flinches.

"Names are boring,"

"Names are kind of necessary Sherlock,"

"Why does he need a name? Couldn't we just call him...Sherlock Jr?"  
Molly sighs.

"That's no fun,"

"My names full of fun. Bursting with fun!"

Molly huffs out a breath of  
annoyance, stares up at the ceiling. She places both hands on her round belly, hoping he might give her a reassuring kick.

"How about...Carlton?"  
She suggests. Sherlocks eyes never once flitter from his computer screen.

"Mmm...no."

He mutters. Molly sighs.

"Robert?"

"No,"

"Matthew?"

"No,"

Molly bites her nails. She rubs her stomach with her opposite hand. Nothing. She sighs, exasperated, and sits up abruptly.

"Then I'm calling John,"

She swings her legs over the sofa and stalks over to the kitchen where she left her cellphone. Sherlock finally breaks his contact from his screen at the pure mention of Johns name.

"Your calling John?"

"Yes because your no help at all,"

Molly says teasingly, dialing his number into her keypad. She places the phone against her ear, listening to the same monotone rings while she waits for him to pick up his phone. Sherlock stares at her blankly. He didn't want the enlistment of John. Not for this. So why was he just sitting there?

"Hello?"

"Hi John, this is Molly. Listen, I was wondering...do you have any-"

The cellular is snatched from her hands so suddenly Molly has barely enough time to register what's happening. She quickly darts her head to her right side, finding none other than Sherlock clutching Molly's phone in his tightly enclosed hand. She furrows her eyebrows, about to snap at him for abruptly disrupting her and Johns conversation, before he begins pacing into the living room and speaking into the phone rather contentiously,

"Yes John, thank you for your input but I don't believe your applicable for this subject. Anyway check your email then phone Lestrade and tell him to arrest the stepfather. If he wants to interrogate him that's fine Lestrade will weasel him out either way. Oh, and you might want to fetch some crisps, Molly's had serious cravings for them recently."

With that he snaps the phone shut and throws it on the couch where it bounces slightly off the cushions before landing on the ground. He turns to Molly, who stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

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**Hope you don't think this is going too slow...but if you do I promise it'll get more...interesting!~Hailey**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hope you enjoy chapter three! It's an interesting one!;)**

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Molly snaps at Sherlock in an irritated, and slightly flustered manner. Sherlock fixes his posture, straightens out his blazer, cocks his head to the side. This angered Molly, the way his puppy dog eyes read innocence, as if he hadn't done a thing to upset her.

"Baby names...what do you think of Xavier? It has a bit of a old fashioned flare to it don't you think?"

Sherlock waves his hands around as if its the most engaging conversation in the whole of London. Molly opens her mouth to protest, but Sherlock immediately interrupts her, swiping his hand away at nothing.

"No your right, a bit _too_ geriatric we could always sport for something modern, Aidan? Actually that's rubbish forget that suggestion-"

"Sherlock-"

"Or Darcy after your great gran, Molly. No. Wait. It's not a girl. Right. Charlie?"

"Sherlock your being awfully..."

Molly scrunches her nose, rotates  
Her jaw, trying to find the right word before she shrieks out,

"_Insolent_!"

Molly's shrill squeak is enough to whip Sherlock's head forward. As soon as she's emitted the words Molly immediately covers her mouth as if she had just uttered a curse. For a few seconds, they remain that way in the uncomfortable silence of their small flat. Molly occasionally glancing at Sherlock, to apprehensive to maintain direct eye contact. Sherlock stares at the rug, left stricken to ponder over his fault. He knew know she was upset with him. Not that he hadn't known before. He had only chosen to ignore the fact, which made matters worse. Finally he looks up and takes a few steps towards her.

"I am sorry Molly. I was being...myself..."

Molly glances at him, this time staring into his eyes which now, instead of appearing wrongly inculpable, appear sincere and sorry.

"...again,"

Sherlock adds.

"I was being ignorant."

He steps towards her and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. Molly blushes, a deep crimson color, but Sherlock pretends to take no notice.

"So...what _do_ you think about Charlie?"

Molly smiles wryly, furrows her eyebrows. She didn't like disagreeing with him.

"That's a um...great name Sherlock but..."

Sherlock's expression turns flat in a second.

"No. Your right."

He pulls at her arm, ushering her towards the couch where he plops them both down. He clasps his hands together and puts them underneath his chin, a habit he's always had while thinking deeply. Then they discuss. The first half hour wasn't very productive, each of them dismissing the others suggestions. Molly loved the name Collin for some reason unknown to Sherlock, and Sherlock seemed mindset on naming him Edard, which Molly thought was the strangest name she's ever heard.

"What about...John?"

Sherlock finally suggests after Molly's countless arguments with him about how 'Shmitzin' isn't even an actual word, let alone a name for a child. The name 'John' however, interested Molly.

"John..."

She repeats softly.

"After John-"

"Watson. I know."

Molly finishes his sentence. She smiles slightly.

"That's a good one,"

Naming their child after John seemed...right. Molly was familiar with their brotherly bond. inseparable, unconditional, and profound. They were completely opposite in so many ways, yet somehow they shared a certain similar aspect that Molly found strangely fascinating. Molly felt this name had been on Sherlock's mind for awhile, but something like timidness might have kept his mouth sealed. Molly folds her hands.

"So you really like that name then? John?"

"Yes,"

He answers almost immediately. Molly smiles and nods her head.

"Okay. Then John it is,"

She gazes down at her tummy, resting her hands on her round stomach.

"And how about a middle name for you...John? Hmm?"

"Oh no we are not doing that again Molly. He doesn't need a middle name."

Sherlock abruptly answers, and Molly doesn't protest.

After the afternoon sun sinks and the sky begins to dot with stars and Sherlock and Molly are resting in bed, Molly is disturbed with a sudden tug at her stomach. Her eyes pop open. Her fingers skim over her tummy, for some reason she's shaking furiously. Again, she feels another strong push. She clutches Sherlock's wrist with one of her hands.

"Oh...Sherlock quick..."

He grumbles while his eyelids slowly flutter open. Molly places one of Sherlocks hands on her stomach.

"He's moving Sherlock can't you feel it?"

Sherlock rotates on his side, snuggling close to Molly and resting his entire forearm on her stomach. He skims his delicate fingers along her belly, hoping to find a spot were his son will show some sign of responsiveness. Without warning, Sherlock feels a small nudge at the hand that rests on Molly's belly. His eyes widen. The feeling was new. Strange yet, reassuring and alluring. He finds himself chuckling, he was amazed.

"John...little John..."

He mumbles. He rests his head on Molly's shoulder, stroking her stomach softly. Fascinated by John's communicativeness. He would've loved to spend the rest of the night this way, 'playing' with his son with Molly at his side. But his moments of awe are disrupted when his phone suddenly, begins ringing insistently. It startles them both. Molly sighs. Sherlock groans irritably as he rolls over to the opposite side of the bed to retrieve his ever demanding cell phone. The number was blocked.

"Hello?"

He speaks rather groggily into the cell phone. No one answers. Nothing but the muffled sound of static responds to him. He silently curses to himself, and is about to end the call when an eerily familiar voice whispers on the other line,

"Sorry to disturb you so late at night Sherlock. I would've called you earlier but it looked like you and dear Molly were in a bit of a row. Not very healthy considering the fact you have a baby on the way. Anyway...what'd you decide on naming the little pest? John...wasn't it? Hum...How...sentimental. Very like of you Sherlock dear. I do look forward to seeing him anyway."

And just like that, Jim Moriarty's voice is lost to a monotone beep. Sherlock grips the phone tightly in his enclosed fist. His heart racing, mind spinning with a thousand questions. But he does not display any of this outwardly. Instead he places the phone back on his night table and cuddles closely to Molly, resting his finger tips on his lips.

"Who was that?"

Molly asks.

"Lestrade. Updating me on the case. He's locked up the Stepfather,"

Sherlock lies, his voice not displaying any signs of hesitance. Molly closes her eyes, relieved. For some reason she had a bad feeling in her gut about the phone call. His words eased her fear.

"Good."

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**OH SNAP! wern't expecting that were you? You were? Oh okay thats still cool. Feedback please I appreciate you past comments!~Hailey**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry about the slight delay, I've been really busy with school starting and all. I just want to let you know that 1. I love your wonderful comments about the story, they always brighten my day! 2. Depending on whatever your version is of 'inapropriate content' it might strike you as a bit shocking that their is some intamacy in this chapter. To me it's nothing really bad AT ALL but I just wanted to get that our for readers who may be sensitive to that type of thing. So anyway, enjoy!**

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The following days to come Molly notices small, and somewhat odd habits that her husband seems to be inheriting. Nothing she seemed she should worry about, just diminutive things. Closing the drapes even when, for London standards, the weather was nice. Continuously checking the lock on the door, making sure it was secure. He told Molly he was going to dust the furniture. The words, 'Sherlock' and 'housekeeping' in itself don't pair well, so when she handed him the duster he didn't necessarily do it accurately, the main reason being he seemed somewhat distracted. His eyes wandering about the flat without a sweep of the duster. More like he was searching for something than actually cleaning. Things Molly found slightly suspicious when they kept reoccurring. The real stumper was when she overheard Sherlock on the phone with his brother. Communications with him were loose, the fact that they were actually _talking_ to each other was slightly alarming to Molly. She didn't know if the conversation was supposed to be private. Sherlock was in their room, the door partially closed, but from the kitchen where she was preparing a small dinner for them she could make out hushed whispers.

"...safer...if you could...surveillance..."

Meaningless words jumbled around. She tried to piece them together like a puzzle but could find no significance to why he would say those things. When she probed Sherlock about the subject, he simply claimed it was part of a small case he was working on for Mycroft. For some reason, she had a hard time believing him.

When proposing the idea of a baby shower to Sherlock, he seemed mindset on not having one, claiming their was no need for it despite all of Molly's urgings.

"It's just what people do Sherlock,"

"What, shower gifts on an unborn fetus while guessing the names of baby animals? Dull. Time

consuming."

"It's cute and its a nice way of telling little John, 'welcome to the family,' and I thought I told you not to call him a..."

At this he would look up and furrow his eyebrows. Molly struggled to utter the word, as if it were a terrible curse and the words tasted bitter in her mouth.

"F-Fetus,"

"How is it-"

" _He,_ Sherlock..."

"Fine, how is _he_ supposed to reflect gratitude towards gifts if he can't even speak, Molly? You know the whole point of having-"

"Wont you just relax Sherlock and respect that other people are paying for things that we won't have too?"

Molly finely giving up on the 'cute' tactic and spilling it out frankly. He purses his lips, that look of process crossing his face one last time before continuing with his previous work. Their would be no formal baby shower, but eventually people would simply stop by the couples flat, dropping off presents neatly wrapped with words of congratulations spilling from their lips. Even Sally Donavan and Anderson stopped by, both reflecting positive input towards Molly, however not reflecting really any amount of satisfaction nor congratulates towards Sherlock whatsoever. This disturbed Molly in a sentimental sense, because she generally disliked people who were rude to anyone, especially her husband. Sherlock didn't care though. As long as the 'two idiots' weren't bothering him, as he put it, he wouldn't bother them. Soon enough a giant heap of multicolored presents and bags were lined along their counter. Molly forced Sherlock to open them with her one evening, sprawling tissue paper and trimming all over the kitchen floor.

"Molly what is this?"

Sherlock asked, reaching into a bag and withdrawing his hand to reveal a plastic florescent yellow ring stand with different multicolored and multi sized rings. Molly had seen them before. Lots of babies had them, kind of like a stacking mechanism. Sherlock pinches them between his fingers, observing them with his wandering eyes as if they were something completely foreign and new. Molly glances at him.

"Just one of those...you know toys."

"What's its purpose?"

Molly raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders.

"I...I don't know maybe to help coordinate John's colors...learn his sizes, from biggest to smallest you know."

He huffs out a breath of annoyance.

"Hardly see how this piece of plastic would help him,"

He says throwing the toy over his shoulder where it clatters on the ground. Molly snaps her head to face Sherlock, alarmed by the abrupt noise.

"Hey now-"

"Little John can learn his colors by taking a look out the window after a rainy day and see if he can find a color spectrum. That allows him to observe the colors more accurately and authentically whereas this...this...play thing-"

"Sherlock-"

"Doesn't even consist of the primary colors on a spectrum. And as for size..."

He chuckles, obviously amused at the fact he was proving his point,

"Well that's hardly beneficial-"

"Sherlock it's just a toy."

Sherlock stares at Molly. She shrugs,

"Don't think he'll much care about the colors...probably just...use it for something to chew on yeah? He's just a baby you know,"

Molly begins tearing the wrapping paper off of another box while Sherlock stands pondering over the toy. Molly looks up at him, smiling nervously.

"Don't have to get all hung over it now,"

She reassures. He seems distraught though. His eyes darting about hesitantly, something he did while thinking deeply. As if his eyes were veiled, preventing him to see what was in front of him, instead viewing the complex maps of his mind that only he understood. Molly rests a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay Sherlock really...so um...lets open the rest yes?"

He turns so that he is facing her. He takes a step forward, gently wrapping his fingers around Molly's arms.

"Molly I'm sorry,"

He says. She furrows her eyebrows, try's to keep a positive mood, fixes a crooked smile on her lips. She didn't think he was just apologizing about the toy though, their was something more.

"You don't need to be sorry, it's um, not really a big deal-"

"What if I'm not a good father to him Molly?"

Molly stares up at him, her smile slowly sinking, melting like butter on a hot pan. His words hitting her like someone smacking a ball against a bat.

"W-what?"

She can't think of what to say or how to reassure him. She is completely stutter shook. Sherlock rests a hand on her plump belly.

He rubs her stomach softly, running his fingers along the fabric of her shirt. A nervous grin forms on his mouth.

"I don't know how to be a parental figure. I can't even identify his toys for gods sake. This is all very new to me Molly. Your more adapt to these type of things, I need you."

Molly swallows, digesting the profound words he just spoke. She hesitates to fix a smile on her face.

"Um, well...I can help you, Sherlock. I mean I am...I _am_ going to help you. You don't have to worry because, well because I've been waiting to start a family for a long long time and I know you've always thought about it too so...I want us to be um, you know comfortable with the whole parental actions we're going to be taking on so um..."

Molly was terrible at comforting people and she really had no idea where she was taking this conversation. She fixes her lips in a tight line, gazing off past Sherlock, who seems to grip her with his intent stare. Squeezing the courage out of her. She disliked that stare. It made her feel small, weak. She flushes.

"You don't have to worry. About anything. You are perfect...you are just fine."

She gives him a curt nod and quickly turns away towards the counter, leaving his delicate embrace. She jabs her arm forward, clutching another present in her shaking hands, fumbling with the wrapping paper. She focus's her attention on the present, but she can feel his eyes bearing down on her like heavy weights. Pushing her down, drowning her in embarrassment.

"Looks like we've got more um...diapers. Which is um, good we need lots of...diapers..."

She holds up the package for

Sherlock to see and gives it a slight shake before setting it down. He remains mute. Finally Molly musters the courage to look up into his eyes. He is watching her. Molly expects him to say something, anything. But he remains standing there until the silence from both of them becomes unbearably awkward. Molly breathes in deep.

"You know if you want to say something then go ahead-"

Sherlock steps forward, places his hands on either side of Molly's head, and abruptly plants a kiss on her lips. The kiss startled Molly. Unexpected, sudden. The way his lips crushed against hers forcefully and eagerly. But it was pleasant. Molly had shared kisses with Sherlock. Brief pecks here and there. She liked it more when he was the first to kiss her. It made her feel wanted, loved. His reminder to her that he wasn't entirely uncomfortable with intimate touches. However this kiss was more passionate than most. She wondered why. Why now out if all times, and why so expressive? What made this time, right now, so different? But I suppose, she wondered, you can't ask why about these things because their really isn't an answer.

And with Sherlock Holmes, the answer could always vary.

Her hands end up in his curly black hair, running along Sherlocks neck as she brings him closer to her. Sherlock presses Molly against the counter, his lips running along hers smoothly, until she suddenly breaks away, leaning forward, a wince fixed on her face. That certainly didn't feel good.

"Oh god!"

She exclaims. Sherlock raises his eyebrows, slightly flustered.

"What's wrong?"

He asks. She grips the counter top with one hand, bending over and resting her opposite hand on her stomach. She's huffing.

"It's just our John...kicking around it startled me...I...I..."

Her face turns ghostly pale as she slaps a hand on her mouth and darts past Sherlock so quickly he barely has time to digest what's going on. Until he hears the retching. Sherlock spins around towards the bathroom in which Molly had no doubt fled to. Sherlock knew that she would be more prone to vomiting now that she was further into her pregnancy. And no doubt contractions were already beginning to surface. He would go comfort her. Lay her down in bed, let her rest. However he could not get one thought out of his mind throughout the entire night.

She had called him perfect.

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**Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner than this one! Hope you liked it!~Hailey**


	5. Chapter 5

**Oh my goodness guys...it's been way to long. So sorry I haven't uploaded sooner I've just been really busy with school and stuff. Also I apologize in advance if some of the information about birth and whatnot is inaccurate. I did research and all but, you know, its not like I know what goes on in the room when your giving birth or whatever...I did my best anyway! But, this chapter is a bit tense...so I hope you like!**

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Molly went into labour very early. Two weeks early, to be precise. So...unexpected. Some people say they can remember the most infinitesimal, yet imperative things about days like this, like what cereal they were eating or what thought was spinning through their head at the precise moment in time. Sherlock remembers the red numbers distinctly blinking ten o' nine on his alarm clock when Molly woke up next to Sherlock sobbing and cringing in bed, wetness soaking through their sheets. Sherlock, no doubt surprised, automatically realized she was having contractions. He immediately hired a cab to St. Bart's, however Sherlock could tell from the look on her mousy face, the short, shallow gasps she was inhaling, she was trying to suppress groans of pain. For his sake, he guessed. Sherlock knew she disliked the fact of him being afraid or anxious. She was fighting the pain for him. Sherlock knew little John was on his way quicker then they both had expected. He called the hospital as the cab sped along the cluttered roads of London, forewarning them about their arrival, demanding a stretcher be positioned outside the front door for Molly would be to weak to walk. As soon as he snapped the phone shut, Molly whipped her head to the side, gasping his name.

"Sherlock..."

Her voice airy, light. Her eyebrows knitted together in concern. She was anxious, her act of courage clearly not holding through. He clicks off his seat belt and slides over to his wife, hesitantly reaching an arm over her slumped back shoulders and, with his opposite arm, grips her hand reassuringly. She returned the grasp with a tight squeeze which she refused to loosen. The grasp sent a flood of emotion trough Sherlocks insides, anxiousness, longing, and just a hint of fear.

The world seemed to move in slow motion, time ticking away to the rhythm of a lethargic lullaby and he desperately wished for the cab to speed up. By the time they had reached the hospital Molly was hysterical. The gasps she had tried to conceal were all but quiet, she was nearly shrieking. Sherlock had never seen her so succumbed to pain. It frightened him to watch as the woman he unconditionally loved be tormented by the thing inside her stomach. Sherlock took a quick glance out the window and spotted the stretcher rolling its way over to the cab. He helped Molly sit up, which was painstakingly difficult for the both of them, and he opened up the cab door. Medics came to her aid, gently hauling her up and out, laying her back down on the stretcher and wheeling her away just as quickly. Sherlock jumped out of the cab and followed quickly beside them not daring to leave Molly's side.

They sped down the long stretching corridor past the bright white walls, the smell of something sharp and sterile lingering in the air, threatening to spill Molly's stomach onto the floor. By this time words and shouts and even her own groans of pain had merged into one giant blob of sound. The pain had blinded and numbed her senses, her eyes dressed in tears smeared the objects around her like a swirl of paint on a canvas board. A hand squeezes hers reassuringly and a familiar deep voice whispers unidentifiable words in her ear. Even though she cannot understand what he is saying, even though his long gentle fingers disconnect from hers and suddenly the moving has stopped and people are ordering her to push, despite the pain, Molly Holmes is overwhelmed with exuberance. Even the pain that leaves her screaming and weeping and contorting her muscles in every which way cannot suppress the excitement that boils in her stomach. She searches for Sherlock, her eyes darting across the small room until they finally land on his tall lean figure stooping beside her. It's as if his eyes can speak, telling her to calm down, focus on him. She grips the fabric if his coat sleeve while the doctors command her to push.

"That's it, Molly,"

Sherlock doesn't break eye contact.

"Just look at me. You are doing fine. You are doing great. You are perfect, Molly, you are so clever and perfect and beautiful."

She squeezes her eyes shut, screaming and crying while her muscles flex tightly. Sherlock hides his true emotion, anxiousness, behind his usual veil of an emotive-less stare.

"Her cervix is only dilated three centimeters,"

A nurse tells Sherlock. He remains intently staring at Molly while she howls in pain.

"Then why is she having contractions?"

"Some woman can undergo early stages of labor before the process grinds to a halt. It hasn't been very long but if she gets too exhausted we may have to give her a caesarean delivery."

Sherlock's eyes flicker from Molly, to the nurse in a split second. He swallows, trying his best to not display any sign of hesitance, nor fear. He doesn't say anything. Instead he keeps a stone cold expression fixed on his face and squeezes Molly's hand tightly.

The hours move along slowly, each one agonizingly painful for the both of them. When Molly's cry's of affliction become a conventional occurrence, when it seems like she's been laboring for days, when the blood soaks everything, the sheets, her clothes, bare hands, and still no sign if their child, that's when one of her nurses immediately steps back, turning to face Sherlock with a discouraged look on her face.

"Her conditions worsening. She needs to be taken into Intensive Care,"

She says hurrying briskly away past Sherlock. He gazes at her, concerned, a thousand questions resting on his lips.

"What..."

His wife's stretcher is being wheeled away. His last glimpse at her and he can barely tell if she's still conscious. Her complexion pale and hollow, eyes fluttering shut. He begins to start after her when a nurse, a nurse he hadn't noticed before, steps in front of him, purposely obscuring his view and blocking his way. Sherlock looks down at the man.

"Let me through,"

He growls. And the nurse he...he _smirks_, at Sherlock. Lifting an eyebrow as if to tisk at him. Sherlock furrows his eyebrows, he could've sworn he'd seen those eyes, that sly smile before. And just before he can question him he whispers,

"Oh your not aloud in their Sherlock dear. Staff only,"

And Moriarty darts down the hall towards the exit, the opposite direction of where Molly was taken, to quick for Sherlock to even probe the encounter.

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**Hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner. I'll try my best guys!**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is a quick chapter, I wanted to get it up so you wern't all freaking out for to long haha. Anyway, enjoy!**

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Sherlock sat in the chair outside of his wife's hospital room, cold-heartedly awaiting her outcome. The hours that passed where hours of complete and utter torment. Because he couldn't go in, because they wouldn't _let_ him go in, he rested there irate, and torn apart by lament. Waves of fear and grief flood Sherlock's body, threatening to consume his sanity, his mind. The barriers he held in his subconscious to protect him from emotion crumble into nothing, and leave him racked with worry. He had thought about phoning Lestrade, asking him to find Moriarty, protect their family. He dismissed the idea when he remembered how pointless it was. He could be hiding anywhere, and he couldn't entrust his life as well as his wife's and future child's with those daft idiots. But the fear of Moriarty, threatening to tear down his future family, looms in the air and rips Sherlock apart. That is, If his family isn't already gone. At this thought he buries his head in his hands and breaths in deeply, then wipes his hands down and places them together under his chin. No word. No word for hours. Their were only two possible outcomes. She was alive, steadily, and they had her under some sort of drug, something he need not be a part of for liability concern and the baby was fine. Or she was...gone. Barely alive, hanging on by the tiniest thread of life for hours before they finally have to end Molly's misery, her suffering, taking their child along with her. Sherlock hated the thought. Hated the very idea that she was undergoing the pain, whatever form if may be, and that they both may be gone forever from his life. Left alone in the world. But he could not dismiss it. You cannot dismiss the possible outcomes.

When the glimpse of a white coat finally enters the corner if his vision, he springs to his feet, turning to the nurse alert and attentive. Sherlock steps forward, eyeing the nurses hands, the indents of her fingernails sponged with blood. The rest of her skin was smooth and clean. She had been wearing gloves , but had taken them off after some while. She had tried washing her hands as best as she could but still...their was so much blood.

"Well?"

Sherlock can barely manage a whisper. The nurse pauses, looking down solemnly at the tile floor.

"She lost a lot of blood. She was running a high fever,"

She says, and everything seems to crumble down into nothing. Like paper crinkling together, balling up and being tossed away. Sherlock holds his breath, desperately clinging to that thin strand of hope. That she'll say something more, that theirs a catch.

"But she pulled through."

Sherlock sighs in relief. His mind clicks into action, the cogs keeping his thoughts racing, spin into motion, his mind functions again and this time the weight of negative emotion does not slow it down. She was alive. Ready to take on the role of a mother. The thought springs joyful tears into his eyes that he quickly blinks away when he remembers the baby.

"A-and the baby?"

He stutters, and to his surprise the woman smiles softly.

"He's perfectly healthy,"

Sherlock breathes in deep, a tremendous amount of tension lifting from his shoulders. He forgets about Moriarty. He forgets about the confrontation they had just moments ago. His family was alive. That's all that matters.

"She's weary, be gentle with her,"

The nurse gives Sherlock a nod and walks past him. As she stalks forward Sherlock immediately reaches for the door handle, gripping it tightly in his closed fist. He composes himself. Straightens out his back, takes a deep breath. Then he pulls down on the metal handle, slowly creaking the door open and slips in quietly, shutting the door behind him.

She was lying there so quietly and soundly, with her eyelids barely opened and her head resting against the pillow so comfortably Sherlock almost thought she was sleeping. But upon his arrival she cocked her head forward just enough for him to know she was awake. Sherlock had never been more glad to see her, Molly Holmes, his co-worker, his wife, and now, parent. Relief and joy overwhelms him in such a way he feels like dashing over to her and cradling her in his arms. Despite her ghostly paleness, her boney limbs and sunken eyes, Sherlock could only see the cheerful woman he had always known and learned to love. He steps forward, the familiar steps of his shoes Molly catches and manages to spreads a smile upon her face. Sherlock examines her surroundings. The sheets had been replaced, twice, them being pressed and stretched and tucked neatly under the mattress, Molly's knees making two small lumps underneath them. Molly had been changed out of the nightgown she wore here, replaced with a bland blue hospital gown. Faint, barely noticeable patches of blood were smeared along the fabric. There had been more, lots more, and what was on her clothes was the remains of what they had tried to clean up. He seats himself at her bedside, words of relief resting on his lips, and that's when he notices the small bundle of cloth resting in the bend of her elbow, moving just slightly. Molly, having noticed Sherlock already, smiles down at the bundle, and then back at him.

"Sherlock,"

She smiles warmly and he realizes he's never been happier to see her smile.

"Say hello to John Holmes,"

Molly looks down at him again with a cheerful gleam in her eyes. She strokes his head, and he gives her a slight grunt in response that makes her giggle.

"He's got your eyes,"

She says, looking up at Sherlock.

"And that massive bundle of black hair he certainly didn't get from me,"

Molly whispers, chuckling. Sherlock peers at the bundle, catching a glimpse of that black swirl from the back of his head.

"Do you want to hold him?"

Molly asks. Sherlock hesitates.

"Y-yes,"

He stutters, not quite grasping the words that spilled from his mouth. Molly shifts, biting her lower lip, reaching out with John cradled in her arms toward Sherlock. He pauses momentarily, not entirely sure how to hold him, worried that he might crush his frail lungs or squish his delicate limbs if he held him wrong. He mimics Molly's grasp, cradling him in the crook of his elbow, placing one hand on his back gently. Once he's comfortable with the movement, Sherlock peers down at the baby.

He indeed, inherited the eyes of Sherlock Holmes, small and narrow, gray in color. The hair startled Mr. Holmes, for their was a profuse amount of it for a newborn. Deep black, sticking up in tiny curls around his oval face. His pale pink lips curved in, that mousy-ness to his face he saw in Molly as well. He was beautiful, Sherlock thought. Something flooded Sherlocks being at that moment. Something profound. Sherlock was a Father. He would watch his John grow up, he would discipline him, teach him right from wrong. John would emotionalize with Sherlock, learn from his actions, he was the role model for his son. John would be one of the few people who would love Sherlock from the beginning. Never having to win over his affection. John would simply, and hopefully, love Sherlock the way he was. And Sherlock loved John. Oh one look and it was imminent, he loved him just as much as Molly. He would protect him with his life, if a time ever came for it. John begins to squirm and grunt, Sherlock watches his movements carefully. Small squeals escape the baby's mouth, his face squints together and soon he begins to cry.

"Oh..."

Sherlock whispers gently. What to do now? He looks up at Molly, who smiles warmly.

"He's hungry, I think,"

She says, reaching over and scooping John softly from Sherlocks arms.

"Molly, I..."

Sherlocks words are stuck in his throat. Molly looks up at him, waiting for him to speak. He swallows.

"I thought I wouldn't see you again,"

He chokes, practically on the verge of tears. Molly remains still, watching Sherlock, absorbing his emotion. She watches as he sniffles, blinking away tears he had gathered, she knew he had succumbed to painful emotion. She had never seen him like this. Never seen him cry. It was like watching a robot weep. He was so cemented, silent, like a statue. Yet tears trailed along his cheeks. She reaches over and grips his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"It's alright now Sherlock,"

She whispers.

"I'm okay. And he's okay. You don't have to cry...love."

Love. Something she'd been hesitant of calling him. She feared he would tell her to not say that to him. Perhaps he would think strangely of the title...some how. But instead he simply looks up at her and stares into her eyes, leans over and plants a delicate kiss on her forehead.

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**Hope you enjoyed this chapter, hopefully another will be up soon!**


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